At approximately 11 o'clock on the evening of Thursday the 11th of October 1973, two men walked into the Jackson County Sheriff's Office in the small Gulf Coast city of Pascagoula, Mississippi, and told the sheriff on duty that a few hours earlier, on the west bank of the Pascagoula River, they had been abducted by aliens. The older of the two men was Charles Hickson. He was 42 years old. He was a former military man. He was a shipyard fitter at the local Walker Shipyard. The younger was Calvin Parker. He was 19 years old. He was Hickson's co-worker. Neither of them, prior to that Thursday evening, had ever given a moment's thought to flying saucers. They had brought with them, to the sheriff's office, two catfish. They had, they explained, been fishing on the river when it happened. They had brought the catfish as evidence that the fishing part of their story, at least, was true. The sheriff, a man named Fred Diamond, listened to them describe a piercing sound in the air, blue lights on the water, an oval-shaped craft hovering silently at the edge of the river, and three creatures with grey folded skin, no visible eyes, and pincer-like claws for hands, who had paralysed them, floated them aboard the craft, and subjected them to a medical examination before returning them to the pier. Sheriff Diamond assumed, as any sheriff in Mississippi in 1973 would have assumed, that it was a hoax. He then, in the way that experienced law enforcement officers deal with suspected hoaxes, decided to test it. He put both men in an interview room. He ran a hidden tape recorder. He left them alone, expecting to catch them laughing. What he captured, on that tape, was two men, believing themselves to be unobserved, still absolutely terrified. Fifty-three years later, that tape has been recovered from a lost archive, listened to by researchers, and analysed alongside polygraph results, radiation testing, multiple corroborating witnesses, and the testimony of an American astronomer who had spent his career debunking UFO claims and who described this one, in careful language, as credible and deeply puzzling. The story of a night on the Pascagoula River in October 1973, of two ordinary men who reported an extraordinary experience, and of a mystery that has, in the 52 years since it happened, never been explained.

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On the evening of Monday the 15th of August 1977, in a field outside the small town of Delaware, Ohio, a radio telescope the size of three football fields was listening to the sky. There were no astronomers present. The telescope could not be steered. It sat on the ground, pointed straight up, and let the rotation of the Earth do its work for it. As the planet turned, patches of the night sky drifted, slowly, across its stationary field of view. At approximately 22:16 that evening, the telescope was scanning a patch of sky in the constellation Sagittarius. At that moment, a signal reached it. It was narrow. It was strong. It was almost exactly at 1420 megahertz, which is the natural emission frequency of neutral hydrogen. The hydrogen line. The frequency that in 1959, two physicists at Cornell University had predicted, in the pages of the journal Nature, would be the exact frequency that any alien civilisation trying to contact humanity would logically choose. The signal rose in intensity over 36 seconds. It peaked at approximately 30 times the background noise of the surrounding cosmos. Then it fell in intensity over the following 36 seconds. And then, at 22:17, it was gone. Three days later, a former physics professor named Jerry Ehman, working at the observatory as an unpaid volunteer, sat down at his desk to review the printouts. He found a vertical column of numbers and letters that made him take his red ballpoint pen, circle the sequence, and write, in the margin, a single word. Wow! It is, as of 2026, the closest thing that any radio telescope on Earth has ever recorded to the exact kind of signal that scientists have, since 1959, expected an alien civilisation to send. It has never, in the 48 years since it was detected, been observed again.

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At approximately 7:15 in the evening on Friday the 12th of September 1952, three young boys were playing in the schoolyard of Flatwoods Elementary School, in the small Appalachian town of Flatwoods, West Virginia. It was almost fully dark. One of them looked up. A bright, pulsating object was streaking across the sky. It appeared to descend and crash on a nearby hillside, on the property of a local farmer. The boys ran home to tell their mother, 27-year-old Kathleen May. Kathleen called on her 17-year-old cousin, a National Guardsman named Eugene Lemon. Two other local boys joined the group. The family dog, Rickie, came along. Seven of them altogether. Six boys, one mother, one dog. What they said they found in a clearing at the top of the hill has become one of the most persistently unsettling paranormal encounters in American history. They said they saw a creature. They said it was ten feet tall. They said its head was shaped like an ace of spades, glowing red and orange in the dark. They said it emitted a foul, sulphurous mist that burned their throats and eyes. They said it did not walk. It glided toward them. By the time they got back to the May family home, six of the seven witnesses were vomiting. Their eyes were red. Their throats were swollen. The dog was cowering. The local sheriff came. The local newspaper editor came, with a shotgun. Multiple neighbours reported strange lights that night. Nothing physical was ever found at the site. But for the rest of their lives, all seven witnesses would stand by exactly what they had seen. And nearly 74 years later, no one has ever definitively explained what it was.

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